


Supplicare

by madasthesea



Series: Fure [12]
Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: The Minister of War does not pray to the gods. But he does pray.





	

His family would probably be horrified if they knew. They were all believers, ranging from half-hearted to sincere, but believers nonetheless. They prayed and they sacrificed and they spoke with caution and they warned “do not offend the gods.” And he didn’t believe any of it. If the gods were real, they didn’t care. They’d left hundreds of years ago, no interest in mortality and their struggles. 

He did not pray to the gods.

But he did pray.

He prayed to his mother when he was young. He prayed that she would live a long life because he was so young and he didn’t know how to be a member of the court. He prayed that she would not inherit the throne, that she would not pass it on to him. 

He prayed to his commanders when he went to war. He prayed that they might know how to win, how to protect the country they loved. He prayed that, unless it was necessary, they would know how to bring him home safe. He was still young, and still afraid, and death loomed so close.

He prayed to his wife, even before she was his wife. He first saw the daughter of the Thief dancing on the palace roof in the moonlight during the feast days in the dead of winter. And he prayed that she didn’t slip on the ice. And then he prayed that she noticed him. And then he prayed that she said yes when he asked for her hand. He prayed for her during childbirth, every time. He prayed over beauty and her life and her freedom and, after a terrible fall, when he hadn’t known to pray, he prayed over her grave.

He prayed to his sons. All of them, that they might find joy and success and health. But he prayed to Eugenides just a little more. He prayed to Gen, the loud mouthed child, the impetuous thief, the war prisoner returned neither whole nor hale but alive, to the lovesick, conniving, plotting, furious young man who saved a country with one hand. He prayed to the king. He prayed when he saw him slip into shadows, when he saw him vault along the rooftops, when he saw him pale and sweaty with fever, when he saw him crowned and married. When he heard a guard whisper with awe “Annux.” 

He prayed to his family, to his country, to his beautiful Queen. If asked, he would say he was a believer. He did not believe in the gods, but he believed in them.  


End file.
